


I want you make me cry

by Vacillating



Category: Sins of the Cities Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotion Play, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Light BDSM, M/M, Minor Character Death, probably don't try this at home without thinking it through very carefully first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 10:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13879074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacillating/pseuds/Vacillating
Summary: Justin misses the emotional turmoil of the early stages of their relationship, and Nathaniel has to work out how to look after him.





	I want you make me cry

“I want you make me cry.”

“Pardon?” Nathaniel said, looking up from the novel he was reading. They were having a quiet night at home by the fire, or at least he’d thought they were.

“I want you to make me cry,” Justin repeated. He was staring into the fire rather than meet Nathaniel’s gaze, and he didn’t look far from tears already.

Nathaniel put a bookmark into his page and set the book down on a side table, trying to work out what to say. “What do you mean?”

“You heard me.” Justin’s spine was stiffening further every moment.

“I did, but I’m afraid that’s not the same as understanding you,” Nathaniel said, trying to make his voice gentle. “Can you describe it for me? Give me some more details?”

“Everything’s so… safe now,” Justin said. He paused to take a deep breath and Nathaniel forced himself to stay still and listen. “When we first met, there was so much happening, and I was… distressed. And you…” He took a breath, and another, and another.

Eventually Nathaniel prompted him. “I?”

“You know what you did. You were there. And I don’t want to go back,” he added hurriedly. “But now… I’m working for Mark, Sukey’s at boarding school, Emma’s working for Clem, you’re writing, we’re sharing rooms, everything is fine, everyone is safe, and… I feel like I’m wrapped in cotton wool.”

“You want some more emotional turmoil?” 

Justin nodded. He was still staring into the fire, and Nathaniel felt the gap between their chairs like a cold draught. “Not for real. More like when we play with my spirit guide.”

That did help; Justin’s uninhibited tart of a spirit guide had become a regular and welcome visitor to the bedroom, although Nathaniel was still hoping never to have to think seriously about the implications of the game. “I see,” he said. “A make-believe upset?”

Silence. Justin was holding himself absolutely still now. Nathaniel sensed that the important point was still to come, but whatever it was, Justin was finding it hard to ask for. Nathaniel got up and went to Justin, tired of the gap between them, kneeling by his chair – at the side, rather than interrupting his view of the fire. Justin didn’t move. 

“What do you want me to do when you’re upset?” Nathaniel asked. “Hold you? Fuck you? Bring you a cup of tea and a biscuit?”

Justin huffed out a breath which might, if he’d been more relaxed, have been a laugh. “Yes. The things you usually do.”

Nathaniel put a hand out, making sure the movement would be visible in Justin’s peripheral vision before they actually touched. “I can do that,” he said. “In fact, it seems to me that you’re already a bit upset tonight, and we could skip straight to the comforting if you like.”

Under Nathaniel’s hand, Justin’s whole body seemed to relax. “We could do that,” he agreed. 

Nathaniel rubbed a circle on Justin’s back, and suggested they move to the sofa.

*

The next day, Nathaniel – in what he knew was becoming a habit – took his troubles and his puzzles to worldly-wise Mark. Justin had gone out early, having been assigned to look for a rich widow’s lost cat, so Nathaniel was able to go to Mark’s office and speak to him alone.

“You mustn’t say a word about this to him, of course,” Nathaniel added when he’d finished explaining.

“I shall endeavour to forget I heard it as fast as ever I can,” Mark assured him. “Have I ever heard of anyone wanting that before? No. But then, I’d never met someone like Pen before I met Pen, so I don’t see that tells us much.”

“So what do I do?”

“What he asked, I should think. It sounds like he made it plain enough.” Mark must have seen the hesitation in Nathaniel’s face, because he added, “Unless you dislike the idea enough that you can’t. Then best to say you won’t, tonight, to his face.”

“It’s not that,” Nathaniel said. “I’m sure I could, although that might not say anything good about me. But how do I choose something to play-act, which would be upsetting enough to get the response and yet not so horrible to pretend that it… goes too far?”

Mark considered this, tapping his pen on the table by his side. “I can think of two ways,” he said eventually. “Either, start small and work up – so-and-so has a minor injury, now they’re in hospital, until you see what works. Or, use something that’s real but long ago, and pretend it’s fresh.”

“Hmm,” Nathaniel said. “Yes. That’s got potential.”

*

That evening, when Justin got in, rain-damp and cold, Nathaniel ushered him straight onto the sofa and handed him a cup of tea. 

“Sit down,” Nathaniel said. “I’ve had some news.”

Justin looked up at him, eyes wide.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night,” Nathaniel told him, hoping that was enough warning for what was about to come. He sat down next to Justin. “And I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I got a telegram earlier today. Your old master, John Summerton, is dead.”

He was aware, as he said it, of taking a calculated risk. He had spent most of the afternoon thinking about the ways Justin might respond to different kinds of fictional bad news – rather at the expense of a newspaper column he ought to have been working on – and he knew there was a chance that he was about to be laughed at, or told to sod off. 

Justin shut his eyes. “Oh,” he said, softly. “Oh. I… I wasn’t expecting that.”

“It’s always a shock,” Nathaniel said. He had chosen that phrase, after some consideration of the least helpful things which were said to him after Tony’s death, as something which sounded comforting at first but was actually upsetting.

“I didn’t really appreciate him,” Justin said, and Nathaniel realised with a confusing tingle of satisfaction and dismay that it had worked. “He took me in and cared for me and taught me, and I was never as grateful as I should have been, and now I’ll never see him again.” 

Nathaniel took the cup of tea out of Justin’s hand before it split, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and pulled him close. Justin leaned on his shoulder and wept, more freely than Nathaniel had ever seen him weep before.

Five minutes later, Nathaniel was thinking that another time he would make sure to have a supply of handkerchiefs ready. He had given Justin the one from his pocket, but it wasn’t really equal to the task at hand. He stroked a hand up and down Justin’s back, nuzzled his hair, murmured, “Shh,” and “Now” and other nonsense, and luxuriated into the closeness of the moment. Justin didn’t usually tolerate cuddling or non-sexual touches for anything like this long – maybe they were onto something here.

Justin took a deep, uneven breath and blew his nose on the already-sodden handkerchief and glanced at Nathaniel’s face. “Did I tell you much about him?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Only a little.” And none of it good, he refrained from adding.

“I remember him teaching me about following clients home,” he said. “He promised me a steak and kidney pudding if I could find out where one particular man went, because this chap had thrown off two previous attempts at pursuit. So naturally I stuck to him like glue, until he went into Spitalfield’s Market.” He paused, and Nathaniel tightened the arm around his shoulders. “There were so many people there, I lost him. I hunted all round the place, but eventually I had to go home. I told Summerton the man had visited the market and then gone to a whore house. Summerton could tell I was lying, so he beat me, but then he said lying was a useful skill and gave me the pudding as well.” Sniffing, but no longer sobbing, Justin put his head back on Nathaniel’s shoulder.

Nathaniel thought of several possible replies, all of which amounted to insults to the dead, and added them to the list of things he was refraining from saying. “You’ll miss him,” he said instead.

“I do,” Justin agreed, somewhat muffled by speaking into Nathaniel’s jacket. 

They sat in silence for a while longer until Justin snuggled closer, swinging his legs over Nathaniel’s so that they sat at right angles rather than next to each other. “It’s nice to sit with you like this,” he whispered against Nathaniel’s neck.

“Any time you like,” Nathaniel told him. 

*

It was hard to have a normal evening after that. They ate the food the housekeeper had left, but Justin – normally a reliable consumer of whatever was put in front of him – wasn’t hungry, and kept leaning into Nathaniel for little touches. He didn’t talk much. Nathaniel tried to conceal the way that made him nervous, but suspected he wasn’t entirely succeeding.

They went to bed early, and it was there, after the candles were blown out, that Justin took hold of Nathaniel’s hand and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Nathaniel said. “Err, for what?”

“For tonight,” Justin said. He sounded slightly tense but not sad, controlled rather than on the edge of tears. “For doing what I asked even though I didn’t know exactly what I wanted.”

“Ah,” Nathaniel said. “Yes. I did feel like I was guessing, especially to begin with.”

“It was good.” A pause, in which Justin took the hand he was holding and placed it strategically on his own hip. “You’d think I’d know about grief, but I didn’t know I needed that.”

“I’m glad I got that right,” Nathaniel said. He might have said more, but Justin was kissing him, then pulling their hips together.

In the morning, Nathaniel woke to find Justin still in his arms.


End file.
